


Special

by thedisgruntledone



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 03:25:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1051967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins was a very special hobbit, for he could see things other hobbits couldn't. Whether this was a blessing or a curse was often debated (in his own head), but the truth of the matter is that it was there, it made him special, and there was no getting away from it. Even if after meeting one Thorin Oakenshield he most fervently wished that he could.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Special

**Author's Note:**

> Hobbit kink meme fill that went sideways, and never quite found it's way back. *hangs head in shame*

Bilbo Baggins was a very special hobbit indeed.   
  
For a long time he did not know it, for although his mother had often told him that he was, he had been witness to Bluebell Bracegirdle’s mother saying the same thing to  _her_ , and he had a very hard time believing that anyone as mean as Bluebell could be special. Special people were kind, with eyes full of laughter and mischief like his mother. Special people did not kick and bite when no one else was looking, and then run to the nearest adult in tears when the bitee retaliated, and therefore Bilbo was sure that telling their children that they were special was something that mothers did.   
  
It was this belief which kept him from realizing he was special at first, until one lovely morning when he’d run into the kitchen, hungry for a big breakfast before going off on an expedition with some Took or another to find fairies, and abruptly asked his mother where her red string was.  
  
Belladonna Baggins, nee Took, had stared at her small son in bewilderment. Though Bilbo often spoke strangely, she could usually keep up with him, being quite strange herself. This, however, was utterly incomprehensible. When she inquired as to what he meant, Bilbo wrinkled his nose and shrugged.  
  
“Oh, I know they’re not  _really_  strings”, he’d told her, “but that is what comes closest. They start just here”, he tapped over his own heart lightly, “and lead to someone else. They have different colors, but I like the red best. Mr. Gamgee has one that leads to Mrs. Gamgee, and I have one, but I don’t know where it goes. Dad has one that ends here”, the hand hovered about a foot from his chest, “but you don’t have one at all. Is that a bad thing?”  
  
Most young hobbits wouldn’t have dared question their mother so, and if his father had been in the kitchen Bilbo would have refrained due to politeness and propriety, but between him and his mother there was a lack of the usual decorum that the fussier Bungo Baggins insisted on at all times. The question had been bothering him for a while now, that Belladonna could see, and she was glad that he’d finally come out with it.   
  
“No, dear heart, I don’t think it’s bad”, she replied, reaching out to stroke her worried son’s curls. “I don’t know what these ‘strings’ are or what they mean, but I love your father very much, strings or no.”  
  
Bilbo grinned up at her, “Oh, you have a blue one. I’m pretty sure that means family, because those always lead to moms and dads and siblings. There’s green, too, but those don’t go to family all the time.”  
  
“Red and green and blue, you say?” she asked, nudging him towards the table, her hands full of plates.   
  
“Yep”, he answered cheerfully, sitting down and grabbing one of the dishes from her. “Thank you. They’re all different shades, too. Don’t you see them, too?”  
  
“No, I do not. I don’t think that anyone does.”   
Bilbo paused, fork halfway to his mouth, and bit his lip uncertainly.   
  
“Is  _that_  bad?”  
  
She smiled. “Oh, I don’t think so. I think it’s just a part of what makes you special.”  
  
Reassured, Bilbo tucked into his breakfast, and was soon off to see what adventure he could find.  
  
He and his mother did not speak of the strings again, and soon enough Bilbo learned that he was indeed the only one to see them, at least the only one in the Shire. So he stayed silent, and observed.

It didn’t take him long to figure out what the different colors meant. Blue was for family, green for friendship, red for love. That last one was a bit tricky, however, for sometimes, he would see hobbits with no red string, like his mother, or others, like his father, that had one that had been cut off, and having a red string didn’t necessarily mean that the two it connected would fall in love and marry – though for the most part it did. Soon enough Bilbo changed the red in his mind from ‘love’ to ‘soulmate’. Trite as it sounded, it was the best approximation that he could come up with.  
  
Observing the way that others felt through their heartstrings was interesting, but it made the observer a bit cynical over time. He saw that his parents had a lovely, beautiful relationship despite not having a red connection, and he noted that Lobelia Bracegirdle and Otho Sackville-Baggins, whose red strings had connected them for as long as Bilbo could remember, only argued with each other more than everybody else. It occurred to him that this soulmate business didn’t necessarily equate with happiness, and he regarded his own red string with a wry sort of amusement, not for an instant believing that finding the one that it led to would mean an end to his loneliness – something he had felt more and more since the deaths of his parents.   
  
Well, that was what he told himself, at any rate. It didn’t explain the not-so-little twinge of disappointment he felt when his heart-match dismissed him with a glance and a joke. Bilbo ignored that twinge as best he could, pretending that it was annoyance with the arrogance of Throin Oakenshield and his company, who had intruded upon his home without an invitation and proceeded to destroy it. It had nothing to do with realizing that he’d found the end of his red heartstring and it turned out to be an exiled king who disliked him on sight. It would be ridiculous to be disappointed over something so silly, something that he already knew didn’t always work out.  
  
And yet…  
  
He’d almost not joined the quest. Had almost stayed home, secure in comfort and safety. Oakenshield had been right – he had no business on a quest like theirs. He was a Baggins, of Bag-End, and had no interest in hunting after a dragon, thank you very much. However, no matter how many times he put his mind off of the idea, it kept circling back around. He could go. He was more resilient than the others knew, and his heart-match was there…  
  
It was all in his head, he  _knew_  that. Those stupid little strings that he could see didn’t  _mean anything_ , they were just there, like freckles. Still, he found himself packing, found his hand picking up a pen and signing a contract, and found his feet hurrying to catch up with the company, not quite with his permission.   
  
Bilbo was surprised to find that it was a decision that he regretted only a little. Oakensheild continued disliking him, and that continued to hurt despite all of his attempts to tell himself that it didn’t, but the others made the ache of their leader’s dislike bearable. He’d isolated himself so much as he’d grown, hiding from what he didn’t want to see and then retreating even farther into himself after the deaths of his parents, that all of his strings but the red had gone away. The blues, of course, had been cut off when his parent’s lives had, and how painful had the realization of what those cut-off strings meant been? The greens had just faded away, because Bilbo hadn’t been able to bother with keeping up friendships; hadn’t wanted any. Now he had a whole host of green pouring out of his chest, attached to each one of the company in varying shades – from Bofur’s deep forest friendship to Dwalin’s pastel absent fondness. He treasured this proof of his inclusion in the group – it was a comfort for the times that Oakenshield snarled at him or made a comment about his uselessness.

The dwarves’ own heartstrings were interesting, as well. He would never have realized how complicated their family lines were had he not seen the blue strings that connected them. It amused him that boisterous Kili and Fili, always in some mischief and always being scolded, were in fact related to their leader, and it made him smile to know that although Oakenshield scolded them more often than anyone, he loved them dearly, if the dark royal blue of their heartstrings were anything to go by.   
  
The prince’s heartstrings for each other were very interesting. There was no family string that connected them, nor did they have red strings. Rather, they had a slightly larger than usual purple string that tied them to each other, and it came as no surprise to Bilbo to learn that the two of them could hardly bear to be separated.   
  
Gloin and Bomber each had brilliant red strings that were darker than any he’d ever seen. He wanted to question them about it but was completely unsure how to bring it up. He needn’t have been worried, for as soon as he hedged about romantic relationships, Gloin went into a description of his wonderful wife and fine son that would have gone on as long as any yarn one of the Shire’s own old-timers could tell had Oin not thumped him on the back of the head and told him to shut it, already. When Bilbo had timidly offered that he didn’t mind, so much, Bombur had cheerfully opined that he would, eventually.   
  
“But, well…he seems to love her very much.”  
  
“Aye, that he does. You see, lad, when we love, we love to the exclusion of all else. Whatever or whoever it happens to be, it becomes the sole focus of our hearts – a part of everything we do. We often forget that we’re the only ones that feel that way. At least, some of us do.” This last was said with a small gesture at Gloin, who glowered and then laughed.   
  
“Aye, and I better be the only one who thinks of my wife in such a way.”  
  
Bilbo found himself smiling as well. “I suppose you mean something like soulmates”, he said with an inward sigh.  
  
“That would make everything nice and tidy, wouldn’t it?” Gloin replied. He shook his head. “It isn’t like that at all. Some of us find someone who they fall in love with and marry them. Some fall in love with someone who doesn’t love them back, and they never marry. Still others love only their craft. It doesn’t always end in happiness and joy, but that’s the way it is.”  
  
He was intrigued. This could definitely explain why some of the dwarve’s heartstrings seemed to lead right back to themselves in a loop. “So does that mean-“  
  
“Enough.” The voice that spoke was harsh, reprimanding, and the others fell silent, looking at the ground. “You have said enough. Far too much. It is not for outsiders to know our ways.” At the end of this speech, Oakenshield gave Bilbo such a look of distaste that he curled into himself slightly, feeling as though he’d been hit by a physical blow. He refused to meet the king’s gaze again that night, instead glaring at the heartstring which tied them together, cursing it and wishing that there were some way to sever it that didn’t involve death. Almost as though it heard his wishes, the color faded just a little over the next few days, going from a healthy red to a pale pink, and Bilbo realized that he’d been the one keeping the color strong, with his foolish hope that it might mean something, after all. When Oakenshield finally let loose the words that he’d been so obviously thinking the entire journey, the line faded even more, until it hardly had any color at all. It made it easy for Bilbo to leave that night, and the only regret he had was the certain loss of every friendship string he’d collected on the journey.

Perhaps if Bofur hadn’t stopped him, that is how it would have gone. Yet he had, and because of that, they were all mostly awake when they were unceremoniously dropped into the goblin’s lair. Bilbo thought he might try to escape and leave for a split second, then he looked down at his chest and realized that despite his harsh words to Bofur in the cave, the string connecting them was still dark, a sign that their friendship hadn’t been damaged the way he’d thought. That more than anything had decided him, and he would have taken on every goblin in his way had he not been knocked even farther down into the caves, and been forced to deal with the terrifying creature there.  
  
Though it was terrifying, the Gollum-thing was also pathetic. It had had a red heartstring once, he could tell, but it ended in a black sort of stump that Bilbo had never seen before. Tendrils of black creeped out of the stump area and lead straight to the ring he’d put in his pocket, which frightened him all the more. He could hardly keep his eyes off of it and his mind on the riddles, but somehow he managed. Once he was out he followed the green strings of his heart back to his friends. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he was truly grateful that he could see them, because even though they were all ranting about his carelessness in getting separated, he could clearly see that none of them had changed their opinion. It made it easier to reveal himself in spite of Oakenshield’s predictable harshness.  
  
  
Then Azog had found them, and Thorin had nearly died. Bilbo couldn’t stop himself from charging, from trying to protect the fallen king. Despite the near translucence of their heartstring (which had actually become pink again, though he failed to notice this for some time), despite the fact that Throin held him in contempt, he actually  _liked_  the grim king for himself, and he couldn’t watch him die. He never expected that his rash act of stupidity would lead to Thorin’s wholehearted acceptance, but when it did, he was glad for it.   
  
Perhaps too glad, if the state of his heartstring was anything to go by. To his dismay, as Thorin continued treating him less like a nuisance and more and more like a cherished friend, the string began to darken once again, until it was the darkest Bilbo had ever seen it – nearly as dark as Gloin and Bombur’s.  
  
He was well aware that the deep color was due to himself, for though Thorin was kinder to him now and smiled more often, he showed no signs of harboring a deeper interest. Bilbo, on the other hand, was quite smitten, and he didn’t need his heartstring to inform him of the fact. He had enough evidence in his racing heart, stumbling nervousness and flushed cheeks in Thorin’s presence. He was sure they had all picked up on it, and he could only be pathetically grateful that aside from a few pitying looks cast his way by Balin and the occasional smirk from Fili and Kili, none of them mentioned it to him.   
  
When they finally reclaimed Erebor, Bilbo’s true torment began. Day after day, well into the night Thorin and the rest of the company sat amongst Smaug’s horde, by turns searching frantically for the Arkenstone and gloating over all the treasure. He did not feel the same pull towards the piles of gems and gold that the others did, but the Arkenstone weighed heavily on his mind. He did not want to give it to this new Thorin, this king who cared for little else than wealth and would spurn the very people who had helped him to keep it. He agreed that it was a pretty gem, and that a part of him wanted to have it for himself, but most of him wanted it far, far away where it could do no more damage.   
  
Bilbo looked down at his heartstrings. Most of them had faded a bit, and none looked healthy, shot through with the same tendrils of black that he’d only ever seen in one other being. He didn’t want to know what it meant that the only comparison he had to what he was looking at had come from a contorted and emaciated creature that had resided in the dankest, darkest part of the goblin’s caves.

That final look cemented the plans he’d been half making already, to take the Arkenstone to Bard as a bargaining chip. He offered to stand watch and snuck away, ring secured on his finger as he stole off, determined to save his friends and king whether they wanted it or not.  
  
It half worked, as things turned out. Giving away the stone started negotiations where before there had been none, but it also left Bilbo without friends, miserable in the final, damning certainty that though he’d acted for love, that action had destroyed any chance he’d ever had of being loved in return. Nearly every heartstring had frayed, including the red one, which looked to be nearly broken. He’d thought that the red ones couldn’t break without death – it seemed he’d been wrong. He’d been wrong about quite a few things, he thought miserably as he hid near the mountain, unable to leave although he knew he should – knew that Thorin would surely kill him if he saw him again. He still loved him, though – loved all of them, really – too much to simply leave. He had to know that they would be okay. This desire forced him forward as the battle started, despite his inclination to do anything rather than fight. He slipped on his ring and stayed near Thorin and his nephews, making sure to help where he could.   
  
When Azog made his appearance, Bilbo was far from Thorin’s side, having been led off in pursuit of the ever moving Fili and Kili. Therefore he could only watch in frozen, helpless horror as Thorin was once again disarmed by his enemy. Azog laughed in triumph at the sight of the fallen king, and that laugh cut through Bilbo’s paralysis and spurred him into motion.  
  
Later Kili would say that Bilbo pushed him so hard in his haste that he was actually flung off of his feet, but Bilbo himself would not remember. All he would recall was the rush of pure, unadulterated panic and the overwhelming need to keep Thorin alive. It didn’t matter that he had effectively been banished from his sight, or that Thorin would never return his feelings. It didn’t even matter that he knew he was connected to the other by a red heartstring. All that mattered was making sure that the dwarf that he’d come to love did not perish the way that his father and grandfather before him had. He must live – Bilbo could not be in a world where he didn’t, even if the only emotion he could hope to inspire from him was hatred.   
  
He could tell that if he tried to use Sting, it would be no good. He didn’t have the time to reach Azog on foot, not before he cut off Thorin’s stupid head. So he did the only thing he could: took a flying leap, trying his best to tackle the pale orc around the legs and throw him off balance.   
  
He missed, landing just ahead of his target. It all worked to the same end, however. Not being able to see him due to the ring, Azog ran headlong into his splayed body and tripped, stumbling just enough for Dain Ironfoot to reach them in the melee and finish him off for good.

Bilbo missed all this, however, for one of the orc’s feet had made contact with his head, and he had been knocked unconscious. When he next awoke, he was in a comfortable bed, with two very worried princes watching him. They both breathed sighs of relief when they saw that his eyes were open, and Fili ran out of the room without speaking.   
  
Kili grinned at Bilbo, exhausted but happy. “He’s just gone to get Thorin. He’s going to be so mad that you woke up now.”  
  
Bilbo winced. He knew that he couldn’t expect forgiveness for what he’d done. Even though he’d taken the Arkenstone for the good of everyone, he had been aware even as he stole it that what he was taking wasn’t merely a gem, but rather the most important thing in Erebor to Thorin Oakenshield. Heartstrings didn’t guarantee happiness, he reminded himself, and cursed the hope that he’d felt for a brief moment upon realizing that he’d been given a room in the mountain rather than shoved unceremoniously into a healing tent. Perhaps Thorin wanted him on hand so that he could reiterate his earlier withdrawal of friendship.  
  
Kili must have read something of his thoughts on his face, for he shook his head hard. “No, Bilbo, no. He’s hardly left your side since you’ve been here – we’ve all been very worried. He finally left a bit ago to get some sleep, that’s all. He wanted to be here when you woke. He-“  
  
Bilbo was grateful when Kili’s words were interrupted by the return of Fili, Thorin in tow. Fili grinned at him and started to speak, but before he could say anything Thorin told both of the princes to leave in a quiet voice. They did so, casting half curious, half worried glances behind them, and as the door opened Bilbo caught sight of a bunch of anxious faces on the other side – his friends, worried about him. The knowledge that they were all still friends bolstered him enough to be able to finally meet Thorin’s gaze as the door slowly closed, muffling the rapid-fire questions that were being shot at the two exiting the room.   
  
Thorin looked grave. “It seems I am in your debt yet again”, he said. “For once more you have saved my life.”  
  
“Oh”, Bilbo looked away, and nervously played with the ends of the blanket he was under. “Yes, well. I-I don’t suppose you’d be willing to call it even then. And. And forgive me?” He turned hopeful eyes on Thorin, whose brows were knit together in consternation. He felt the last bit of hope he’d been cherishing die, and he bit his lip. “Or not.”

In an instant, Thorin was beside his bed. He knelt, reaching out and clasping one of Bilbo’s hands in his own. “It is I who should be asking your forgiveness. You had the right of it, and I was too blinded by my own pride and greed to see what you did. You had our best interest at heart, and I repaid you with cruelty. I am truly sorry, and can only ask that you forgive me my idiocy. I would not wish to have you hate me, though you rightly should.”  
  
He shook his head. “I could never hate you, Thorin”, he answered. “I knew how much you valued the Arkenstone, and I shouldn’t have-“  
  
“Yes, you should have. You were the only one who could see sense, we were all so obsessed.” he paused, smiled ruefully. “I was so obsessed. I was so consumed by the gold sickness that I forgot how much I value  _you_. I forgot how much I-“ here Thorin cut himself off and shook his head. “No. It is already too much that you have forgiven me.” He stood, releasing Bilbo’s hand, and would have left, had not a small, terribly hopeful (and trying desperately to hide it) voice sounded from the bed.  
  
“How much you what?”   
  
Bilbo’s heart was in his throat. His head was spinning, and he could feel himself trembling lightly. It had almost sounded as if…surely it couldn’t possibly mean…but maybe… _Please_  he thought, slightly hysterically.  _O_ _h, please_.  
  
Thorin’s eyes closed, and he took a deep breath, then he opened them again and met Bilbo’s gaze. “How much I love you. How much I’ve loved you for a very long time.”  
  
 _Thank you_. Bilbo smiled, happiness breaking over him in a wave. “I’m glad”, he replied. “Not that you forgot, of course, but that you remembered. I’d hate to be the only one who feels this way.”  
  
Face suddenly lighting with happy understanding, Thorin replied, “I know I haven’t the right to ask you, but-“  
  
“Yes”, Bilbo interrupted, not needing to hear the rest. “Yes, of course.” He very nearly kicked his feet in delight, would have if it weren’t for his still tender muscles. All this time, he’d been so silly, hadn’t he? So silly, thinking that his love would not be returned, when he’d had the proof of it right in front of his face. His heartstring, darkening with each day that their mutual affection had grown, had told him all along. 

  
Thorin bent back down, taking Bilbo’s face in his large hands and lightly touching their foreheads together. “You are far better than I deserve”, he said softly, “but I promise you that I will do my best to try, and I will never stop loving you.”  
  
“Of course you won’t”, Bilbo laughed, tilting his head and pressing his mouth against his king’s. His heart felt as though it would burst for joy. “I am frightfully loveable, you know.”  
  
There would be things to discuss later – of course there would, life was messy and complicated, and though forgiveness came easily, forgetting would be much more difficult – but for the first time in his life, Bilbo was content to relax, and trust that things would work out. He rather felt that they had to. He was, after all, a very special hobbit.


End file.
